


Nuerotic Repetition

by MamaZoom



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaZoom/pseuds/MamaZoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard has always felt awkward when Vince touches him. Is it because Howard might be gay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nuerotic Repetition

**Author's Note:**

> Howard's very rigid, polar views are not my own and are completely his. Please don't stone me. Signed, your friendly, queer, gender-fluid fic writer.
> 
> Also, this fic is a bit AU as I ignore everything that happened after Nanageddon including all of series three.

"Don't touch me."

Words he'd uttered time and time again; sometimes stern and commanding. Sometimes softly, in a manner that sounded exhausted, or almost defeated. Sometimes, when it all got to be too much, he'd bark the words that made his friend’s face fall--his smile falter and sad eyes look to the floor:

“Don't ever touch me."

He'd feel bad immediately after having said it, vowing silently to never say it again.

But with every light touch, every affectionate pat, he found the words tumbling from his lips like leaves from a tree branch.

Howard sat alone on the couch, sipping his whiskey. Jack Daniel's always threw his mind into the existential crisis he always seemed to be on the precipice of. Always cracked open his skull and tossed in that question that seared his tired, pulsating mind, burning every synapse and keeping him awake most nights:

Why does it bother me so much? Why can't I just let it go?

He walked across the room to the window they had only just got repaired. He shook his head in mild amusement. Just a week ago they’d had a demonic Nan crash through that window, sending shards of glass everywhere. He rested his fingertips on the new pane, still untouched and without a smudge. He ran his fingers down it, trailing light grease marks that had come from running his fingers through hair that could probably use a good washing.

Damn him he thought, without really meaning it. He's always the one who starts it, isn't he?

It was true; every weird pickle or hairy situation they’d ever got into was almost always Vince's fault.

Even back in school. When Vince had a wild idea, he'd always find some way to rope Howard into it, no matter the circumstances.

Like the time he became obsessed with Sue McAvoy's hair when he was nine. He had convinced Howard to distract her while he cut some of it off with a pair of scissors they'd stolen from a craft supply shop. (Which had never made any sense to Howard. Why did the scissors have to be stolen? Vince had insisted on it. Said if they were stolen, they couldn't trace them back to him.)

Fat lot of good it did anyway; the next morning when Sue was still crying and distraught over her missing tresses, Vince walked in grinning ear to ear with bits of Sue's hair attached to the headband he was wearing.

It had earned them both marks on their permanent records and Vince two weeks at home suspension. Even then, he'd convinced Howard to bring him sweets and comics when he made the trip 'round to drop off his school work.

But that was the thing about Vince: his mind was like a steel trap in the middle of the Sahara--not much passed through it, but once something did, he just wouldn't let it go.

Howard pushed his forehead against the polished glass as one Sinatra song faded into another. Below him, the street was sleepy and relatively soundless. He watched as snow fell to the earth, it's landing not cushioned by soft dirt, but rather solid, unforgiving concrete; evidence of a harsh, industrial age swallowing up the heavens, scaring the landscape with the hard outlines of buildings and billboards. He watched leaflets dance in the wind.

He wanted badly to be back in the woods again. But after that Yeti debacle....

His mind was ripped away from thoughts of near-rape by hypnotizing beings when he caught sight of a stirring of motion in his periphery--a flash of silver, red and green. It was Vince and Leroy, mucking about and making a spectacle of themselves, even without the benefit of an audience. They were stumbling over each other, clearly drunk off their tits, and laughing so loudly the sound made the glass beneath Howard's face tremble slightly.

He watched tentatively as pale, thin arms wrapped around pale, thin torsos and pale, pretty faces met--could almost see glossy lips part--and he flinched away from the scene they were causing for the few passers-by still up at this hour.

Something in his stomach did a flip and he grasped the edge of the couch, trying to make the sensation go away.

While Vince was Howard's only friend that could be put into the statistic of the "Queer Community" (even if he usually only snogged other men when he was drunk), he had seen men kissing before. And strangely, it never really bothered him to the extent that seeing Vince kissing another man did. Never made him physically ill, just a bit … uncomfortable.

He walked 'round to the front of the couch on wobbly legs and eased himself down onto the cushions as he heard the rumble of stacked heels stomping up steps. He looked up in mock surprise when Vince's form clearly presented itself at the top of the landing.

"Wha'er doin' 'lone in tha dark?!" Vince slurred loudly, eyes all loose in their sockets.

"Lester cancelled on me. What're you doing, stumbling home drunk at 4 a.m.?" Howard set his tumbler down between his feet and stared at Vince accusingly.

Vince threw his head back and let out a loud cackle. He took a wavering step forward, one hand on the banister for support, the other hand pointing at Howard, waving about madly. When Vince got wasted, he tended to look like he was trying to conduct some phantom orchestra with his index finger.

"Why're you actin' like a jellious hubben?!" Vince grinned viciously, still pointing and walking to the window Howard was at only moments ago, footfalls heavy from the liquor. Howard watched with slight terror as Vince's Finger O' Accusation made a trail through the small grease smudge Howard's forehead left against the glass. "YOU WAS WATCHIN' ME!” Vince fell all over himself with laughter.

Howard watched as his friend slumped to the floor in a mass of soft translucent fabric and lilting giggles. He rolled his eyes and shut them tightly, wishing half-heartedly that when he opened them, Vince would be either gone or back to his slightly more tolerable, sober self.

Instead, Vince remained on the floor, cheek pressed against the carpet singing "Punk Rocker" by The Teddy Bears very loudly.

Howard sighed, picking up his friend. Vince was not making it easy on him--limbs loose at the joints like a marionette with its strings cut. And defiant. A child as always.

"Wha'er you doin'?! Pu' me down!" He stamped his foot in protest.

"I'm putting you to bed, Kid Vicious." Howard gave up, carrying Vince bridal style to their bedroom and blushing immediately at the thought.

He laid Vince down as gently as possible, pulling off his boots and taking off his headband and scarf. Howard retrieved the crumpled duvet from the floor and tucked him in.

He turned on his heel, walking to the door. For reasons unknown to himself, he turned around before walking out of the room, leaning against the door frame to watch his friend drift off into a drunken land of Nod. Watched long lashes flutter closed, mouth slacken, soft breaths coming in sighs.

It instilled a feeling in him he couldn't quite identify, but didn't feel right with. It was like a cancer growing in his stomach.

Uneasy, he retreated and returned to his Sinatra and Jack Daniel's, and the secret stash of cigarettes he kept behind the bar with visions of a semi-conscious Vince drifting in and out of his mind.

And for the first time since they started cohabitation, Howard slept on the couch.

 

*******************

 

The next morning was rough. Vince was hung over and Howard was sore from sleeping on the couch. They were both on edge, and the slightest breeze of anything but indifference from either one of them was going to push them over the precipice and into a huge fight.

Howard buried his face in the morning paper, feigning interest in the news while Vince rattled the empty carton of orange juice.

Vince cleared his throat, clearly seeking attention.

Howard removed his eyes slowly from the paper, glaring at him from over the top of it. "Yes?"

Vince's gaze dropped from Howard's obscured face to his hands, nervously chipping at his nail varnish. "Well, my birthday's coming up..." he trailed off, waiting for a reaction from Howard, who made a pained face. He'd completely forgotten.

"Yes?"

"Well, I just thought that it'd be nice if I had the party here, instead of at the Velvet Onion. You know, just this year. We'll see how it goes..." He emptied the last few drops of orange juice into his glass.

Howard sighed. He hated how weird and awkward things sometimes got between them after Vince spent the night away drinking. As much as Howard hated to hear it from other people, he did understand how much their relationship was like a husband and his wife. Sometimes he was pained by how close they had gotten over the years, like something was missing; like they had skipped something somewhere along the way. Just like the question of why he never wanted Vince to touch him, this question always weighed heavy on his mind if he allowed it. What are we missing? What should be in that empty space?

He pushed his thoughts aside and concentrated on trying to make it up to Vince. He hadn't handled the situation last night with much patience.

"That sounds great, little man." He reached across the table and ruffled Vince's hair.

Vince batted his hand away, and smiled wide, looking like a small child on Christmas morning. "Really?!"

Howard couldn't help but smile to himself. "Yes, really."

Vince flung himself across the table, knocking over dishes and glasses, and sending silverware flying everywhere. He wrapped his arms around Howard's neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Howard wrestled him off. "Don't touch me!"

He spoke it to the empty air; Vince was already running off to make plans.

Howard stared at his oatmeal, lost in thought.

A party. Jesus.

The thought of having to contend with Vince's friends for a whole night and having nowhere to run was enough to make him physically ill. It wasn’t that they weren't good people when you got right down to it, but he just simply had nothing in common with them.

Except Vince.

And he's probably going to be caught up in them, as always, talking about fashion and electro music. And I'll be in a corner somewhere, wondering why I didn't just pop over to Lester's for a little Weather Report.

Except he knew why he wouldn't end up popping over to Lester's for some Jazz and someone like himself to talk to.

Vince.

It had always come down to Vince.

 

***************

 

They were walking home in the snow, arm-in-arm. Physical contact was always easier for Howard once he'd had a few drinks in him. And Vince was his usual touchy-feely self, slightly taller than Howard in his stack-heeled boots and resting his head on his shoulder.

And humming. It was a tune Howard couldn’t place, but knew, and he hummed it instinctively right along with him.

They’d had a good night at The Velvet Onion. A few people had actually clapped after they played their set. Afterward, they had set out in search of food, stopping at a little Indian restaurant.

They were happy and full of curry, mouths still so hot with exotic spices it warmed their bodies and shielded them from the relentless cold.

Vince's hand slid down Howard's arm, interlacing their fingers and squeezing gently in a silent sign of affection. "You know? I think I might have a theme party this year … maybe circus … or cabaret…" he trailed off

Howard felt a hiccup rising in his throat and tried his best to suppress it, failing miserably. Vince let out a long, loud laugh.

"I fink mebbe you shuld do circus," Howard slurred. He was sure he was at least twice as drunk as Vince, which was probably why he didn't protest too much against all the physical displays of affection. "'Cause I dun wanna see you prancin' 'bout in fishnets 'n corsetry."

Vince shoved his body against Howard's side, making him stumble a bit. "Sure you do. I'm the confuser, yeah?!"

Howard felt himself go a bit red at the thought, pushing it away quickly and retorting with a "Shut it".

Vince just laughed as they walked further into the night.

 

*************

 

Somewhere through the thick haze of half-sleep, Howard felt the scarcely used side of his mattress dip down and an arm wrap around his waist. He elbowed the intruder gently.

"Wha’ you want?" Howard mumbled, the alcohol not yet cleared from his system.

"There's … it's … well, it's just..." He heard Vince's voice trail off before a crack of thunder sliced through the near silence of the flat, making Vince jump and yelp like a puppy that'd just been kicked.

Howard suppressed a laugh, turning to face his frightened friend. The booze was still swimming pleasantly in his veins and he could hear music leaking through the wall that separated their room from Naboo's. It was something with lots of flutes--something exotic and slightly hypnotic, like what a trance might sound like. He wrapped his arms around Vince, pressing him tightly to his body. He could feel him shaking with terror.

"Just this once," Howard mumbled into Vince's hair. It was soft and smelt of product. He noted it and stored it away. "You're lucky I'm drunk" Although he knew it was only half true; he still had a light buzz on that was making his mind swim a bit in his skull, but if he was going to be honest with himself (which he wasn't) he'd have to admit it wasn't as strong as it had been earlier when they were walking home hand in hand.

He just liked enjoying the foreign feel of another body against his.

Even if it was only Vince.

Or maybe because it was Vince.

 

**************

 

Dead leaves keep knocking against the window and his room was suspiciously cold.

Howard opened his eyes to find himself alone in his bed, a few black hairs clinging to the pillow beside him. He felt a mild panic start to creep through his blistered mind, but calmed quickly when he remembered the storm last night and the frightened form that clambered in beside him.

Thank god! Howard thought to himself. I thought maybe we had...

His thoughts trailed off. Why was he so worried? Maybe Vince would try something, but would Howard really relent? Would Howard (if put in that situation) ever find himself giving in to Vince's…

No. Howard refused to think about it. Especially at this hour. He had a late wake up and only an hour to eat, shower, dress and take stock before the store opened.

He hummed "Bird Land" under his breath as he got ready. He refused to let his mind unearth the awkward, teenaged encounters he'd had with Vince that he'd buried so long ago. He would not revisit those moments.

Instead, he would brush his teeth.

 

***********

 

The first time it happened, Howard was a shaking, nervous wreck, although Vince seemed to know what he was doing. Vince was 16, Howard was 26. He had just convinced him to quit school to work at the zoo with him.

He didn't want Vince to drop out, and felt wildly selfish having asked him to do so. But truth be told, at this point, Howard just couldn't see himself anywhere Vince wasn't.

Howard's ‘One Suitcase’ policy was thrown clearly out the window as Vince had brought along at least seven, not counting the large satchel he was clutching to his chest.

Vince was talking about a mile a minute as they made the two hour trip to The Zooniverse, getting lost a couple of times. He eventually ended up dozing off as Howard tried to navigate the van.

Howard figured they were about twenty minutes away from their destination when Vince woke up, head obviously thick with fog. He gave Howard a smile that made his heart fall out of his rib cage.

Vince scooted closer to him, resting a weary head on his shoulder. He rested his hand on Howard's knee. At some point (Howard really couldn't remember when, in retrospect) Vince started kissing his neck and face. Anywhere skin was exposed. His hand crept dangerously higher as the miles kept rolling on. Howard said nothing--keeping his eyes on the road, thankful when they finally pulled up to The Zooniverse and the physical contact stopped.

 

************

 

Howard walked into the living room to find Vince eating cereal with a fork, and looking depressed. His eyes were empty as they stared out the window.

"What's the matter, little man?" Howard asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"The storm last night. It rained all over the snow and now it's ice," he sounded on the verge of tears.

"Since when has solidified water made you so upset?" Howard asked, sitting down next to his friend on the sofa.

"It's not the ice I'm so upset about! What if no one can make it tonight because of the weather?!" His eyes went wider than Howard had ever seen them.

Seeing Vince jittery and worried always broke down Howard's walls, made them crumble around him. He took the cereal bowl from his friend's hands and set it on the table. He crushed the younger man tightly to his chest.

"It'll be okay. Things will work out for you. They always do," he spoke into his hair.

"I guess so," Vince muttered dejectedly.

 

**************

 

The last time it happened, they were both drunk. Terribly, terribly drunk.

This time, though, Vince was 19 and restless. Howard was 29 and still wildly inexperienced.

It had started as a playful wrestling match over the remote control and ended up with Vince straddling Howard, the pair of them snogging like a couple of teenagers.

This is wrong. Howard thought to himself as Vince's tongue swept its way through his mouth, teasing his own.

If it's so wrong... a voice somewhere deep in his subconscious spoke up, ...then why are you enjoying it so damn much?

He couldn't argue with it. He was sure that Vince was just as aware of his growing erection as he was.

He moaned as Vince bit his lower lip lightly and sucked it into his mouth. His hands roamed down Howard's chest, palm on his tight, one hand sneaking into his cords.

Howard pushed him off, stammering and locking himself in the bathroom until Vince passed out.

 

******************

 

Their flat was a swarming mass of people. All tight, bright clothing and crazy hair; lean, pale frames and angular faces; painted eyes and glossy lips. If any of the many lithe forms didn't have clear gender-indicators (i.e., Stubble or breasts), Howard couldn't tell if they were men or women.

If I were a more liberal man, I wouldn't care. They're all beautiful, he mused to himself. Besides, I think everyone in here knows who is the most beautiful of all... His eyes immediately travelled to Vince, who was across the room, dancing between two androgynous beings.

Howard attempted to distract his mind with a little game: "Guess The Gender". The one on Vince's right wearing the leather jacket was either a very pretty boy or a very handsome girl. As was the one on Vince's left...

Howard sat down with his Guinness and gave up. He'd never be able to guess correctly. Howard dealt with facts and statistics. This, this mingling of skinny bodies and sweat, of electro music and glam-trash fashion was some shade of gray between what he knew and what he'd yet to discover. It perplexed him. And Howard didn't like what he didn't understand.

 

**************

 

"Just hold still!" Vince demanded, hovering above Howard. "I'm almost done. Besides, it's not like this is the first time we've done this!"

"You keep poking me in the eye!" Vince was cloudy through his watering eyes, a vague formless smudge of colour above him.

"Just blink a few times." Vince was getting impatient, so Howard did as he was told. Vince slowly came into focus, arms crossed, eyeliner still in hand. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Howard sighed. He didn't know how Vince had talked him into this. The same way he always talked him into things, he guessed; Vince had sauntered up to him in that awkward way of his, Pinocchio without Geppetto to guide him--to control his strings. He'd noticed how uncomfortable Howard had seemed and offered to help him fit in more. A cheeky grin, a tilt of his head and Howard found himself being pulled away from the crowd.

Yet locked away in their room while the party continued, he didn't feel any more at ease. As a matter of fact, his nerves only got worse as Vince leaned down, tilting Howard's head with gentle hands and working the pencil around his eye.

"Bloody hell," Vince grumbled under his breath, getting aggravated at the awkward angle. He straddled Howard on the bed, faces inches apart. He hummed contentedly as he put the finishing touches to Howard's eyes.

Howard sat as still as he could, trying to think of nunneries, slaughterhouses, biblical stoning, anything but the weight on his lap.

It didn't help that Vince looked even more like a woman than he usually did, in his flowing leopard print blouse, tight, black drainpipes and those silver boots that made him taller than Howard. He was even wearing lip gloss--something he only did on special occasions.

"There!" Vince proclaimed proudly with a toothy grin. He hoisted himself up and allowed Howard to walk to his side of the room to use the full-length mirror.

Just like when Vince had dressed him up as a Goth to impress those girls, nothing Howard was wearing really fit properly. Black stack-heeled boots, dark-washed jeans, a brightly coloured shirt advertising a band he'd never heard of before, a multi-coloured scarf and his hair ... it almost looked organized. Still messy, but the kind of messy that looked like he'd spent all day in the mirror getting it to lay that way. His eyes even looked a little bit bigger when rimmed in kohl.

Howard blinked hard at the sight. When he opened his eyes, Vince was standing where his reflection had been. Howard shifted uncomfortably under the younger man's gaze. He felt a tightening in his chest as Vince eyed him up and down with a strange, predatory look in his eyes.

"You look..."

"Ridiculous?" Howard ventured a guess.

"Sexy," Vince sounded as astonished as Howard felt.

"Right, uh ... can we get back out to the party, then?" Howard's eyes fell to his shuffling feet.

"Just one more thing," Vince said, stepping forward.

Howard opened his mouth to ask what could possibly be missing from the ensemble, when Vince's lips closed around his. Howard felt a mixture of shock and familiarity, and something that he would tell himself later wasn't arousal. He pressed his lips together tight, denying Vince further access.

Howard felt Vince's body stiffen, uncertainty taking over. He took a step back, blushing, and shuffling wordlessly out the door leaving Howard with nothing but his reflection.

It wore a look of disdain.

 

*****************

 

Howard watched from the corner of the room while Vince played "Spin The Bottle"; watched in aggravation as his lips effortlessly found those around him; watched Vince act like it was nothing at all to kiss anyone the bottle landed on--be it man, woman or anything in between. Vince's eyes met his as he leaned in to kiss what was (judging by the five-o-clock shadow) clearly a man. Blue eyes flashed anger and pain while the crowd cheered them on.

He watched as Vince spun the bottle again--green glass spinning effortlessly on its side; watched as the neck pointed to him through the gap between two skinny bodies.

Howard felt panic as he watched Vince stand up.

And pain as he watched him walk out of the room.

 

*****************

 

He had a dream once, that he was Vince.

Beautiful and flirtatious and the life of the party. Flitting from once social event to the other, people staring on in awe.

Until one day he (dream Vince) stumbled home drunk, bits of his body falling off into the snow. It started with his fingers, a few of them falling away until there were no digits left on his right hand. Clumps of hair fell to the ground like raven's feathers fluttering against the snow. His bottom lip. A couple of toes.

He gathered them all up in his arms and ran as fast as he could towards home, stopping only briefly to ask passersby if they could help him. No one could.

He finally made it up the stairs of the flat, finding "Howard" sitting on the sofa. He held an invisible guitar in his hands, plucking at the strings and humming lyrics.

Dream Vince held the amputated parts out to Dream Howard, who just looked at him with confusion and a slight tinge of disgust.

Dream Vince started to panic, somehow knowing that Dream Howard was the only one who could put him back together again.

As he stood over Dream Howard, he tried to explain what was happening to him, although his mouth wouldn't make any noise. The words came out not in sound, but as black smoke that Dream Howard quickly batted away.

Dream Vince's nose fell off, landing in Dream Howard's lap.

Dream Howard brushed it off quickly, like it was a black widow spider and he didn't want to get bitten.

When he opened his mouth, the words came out like a comic book character's, hard and bold. "DON'T TOUCH ME."

The words hovered heavy in the air before rushing at Dream Vince, hitting him and shattering him into a million pieces.

 

***********

 

Howard felt lower than he ever had before as he ushered out the last remaining guests, one of them slipping a piece of paper in his pocket. He shut the door behind them and fell against it heavily, sliding to the floor. He fished the scrap of paper from his jeans, unfolding it and finding digits there.

Howard Moon scored a phone number for the first time in his life. And for some reason, it didn't fill him with the pride and satisfaction he knew it should.

He stood up and started to tidy the flat, throwing away beer bottles and getting a little angry when he found a condom wrapper between the sofa cushions.

I can't find the courage to get laid once in private, and there are people willing to do it publicly?!

He surveyed the flat, looking for anything else that needed doing. He could alphabetize his record collection...

...Or I could stop being a prat and check on Vince, he thought glumly, dreading what he would find once he entered their bedroom.

 

 

*************

 

Howard found Vince in his bed, laying on his side and staring at the wall.

"You okay, little man?" Howard asked sheepishly.

"Don't call me that anymore," Vince grumbled.

Howard felt his breath leave him; he'd called Vince that since they'd met.

"Why not?!"

"Don't sound so hurt, Moon. It's a pet name." Vince pulled the duvet up to his chin, something Howard knew was a defence mechanism.

"What's your point?"

"People only use pet names for someone they care about."

He felt like Dream Vince all over again, the words shattering him. He felt like a pane of glass, but not as translucent.

Howard sat down on the bed next to Vince's motionless form, pulling back the duvet and laying beside him. He wrapped an arm around Vince's waist and buried his nose in his hair. He opened his mouth to say something--anything--but instead did something neither of them expected.

He started to cry.

Vince turned to face him, shock written clearly on his face. Howard felt too much in that moment; too open, too raw, too vulnerable, too stupid, too proud, and too pathetic as Vince wrapped his arms around him and let him cry himself to sleep.

 

**********

 

Howard woke up a few hours later, checking the clock and sighing at lost time. 4:35 am. He contemplated going back to sleep, knowing he wouldn't be able to no matter how hard he tried.

Instead, he disentangled his limbs from Vince's sleeping form and retreated to the living room once more.

Sitting on the sofa in the dark wearing his party clothes, he let his mind slide back and forth between concepts.

I do care for him. Too much, sometimes. He's vain and egocentric, his narcissism surpassing that of any other's. He's loud, cheery. A bit of a child. Bouncing from one thing to another when he gets bored. Too eager to impress or gain praise. Doesn't put the cap back on the toothpaste. Leaves his glass too close to the edge of the table.

But he's sweet, open, and balances my pessimism perfectly. He's weirdly caring and considerate--at times even charitable, emotionally. And he's beautiful. God damn it is he beautiful.

Sometimes I look at him and think if he were an actual woman, I could fall in love with him.

And that scares me.

"Howard, you ballbag, what do you fink your doin'?!"

Naboo's voice jolted him out of his self-induced mind-fuckery.

"A man can't sit alone on his sofa in the dark?" he asked, trying to feign indifference.

"I mean about Vince!" the tiny shaman was clearly getting impatient.

"What d'you mean?"

Naboo rolled his eyes, fed up as always. "Your thoughts were so loud they actually woke me up! Stop being a dick--you love him. Go tell him!" Naboo threw his arms up, dismissing the matter and hand and retreated back into his room.

Howard felt as if the wind had been knocked from his chest.

It can't be true ... can it? I mean, just because I've never touched a woman doesn't mean ... no. I definitely like women. Want to marry one someday, even.

"And just how would that work, Howard?" he heard Naboo's disembodied voice as it rattled his skull. Howard wasn't sure if it was some psychological fuck up, or if Naboo was using his magic to infiltrate his mind, but neither mattered as he listened closer, rapt with attention to what Naboo was going to say next.

“You two idiots are inseparable. Do you really think some woman's going to tolerate that? She'd be the third wheel. And the way Vince is always touching you. That's gonna raise her eyebrow.”

I don't want to be…, Howard stopped himself before he even thought it.

“Say it Howard.”

I don't want to be gay.

“Why?”

Because

“Why?”

Howard felt his world start to crumble under the pressure of questioning what he thought was the truth--felt his eyes start to sting like white hot pin-pricks as the tears started to tumble.

It scares me! Alright?! I know how much Vince loves me, how much he needs me, and my hands start to tremble every time I think of it! I've never had someone's world depend on me so much--never had my world depend on someone so much. And knowing that if I let myself fall in love with him totally, it would shatter every notion I've ever had of who I was. So I push him away, kiss him with crimps, tell him how much I care through inside jokes, make love to him with gentle slights to his personality. I can't let go. Of anything. Of myself. Of him. Of who I thought I was. Of the feelings I have for him.

Inside his mind was so silent his brain felt like it was vibrating against his skull. He sat perfectly still, waiting for the sky to fall.

Suddenly, a small, lisping voice sliced through the silence: “So you'd rather continue on with this neurotic, repetitive cycle until you go mad?”

Howard let out a sigh, defeated. No.

“Go tell him. Show him. Do something. I'm going to bed.”

 

**************

 

Vince was still sprawled across his bed, still fully dressed in his  
ridiculous outfit, his right hand tangled in his nest of layered hair. Howard noticed for the first time that night that Vince had put silver glitter in his hair--making his tresses look like the night sky. He wanted to count every star in that lush celestial body--make a wish on every one.

Instead, he buried his nose in Vince's own private galaxy, breathing in the scent of his hairspray and shampoo. This is where Howard hoped heaven was located.

Vince woke up, clearly not expecting to have Howard knelt over him. "Wha'er you doin'?" he asked sleepily, sitting up.

Howard sat next to him, close enough to exchange body heat. "Something I should have done a long time ago."

Howard leaned in cautiously, brushing his lips against Vince's and pausing to allow the younger man's mind to catch up to what was going on. It didn't take long. Vince deepened the kiss, pausing when Howard tensed.

“How does it feel?” Naboo's voice replaced his normal inner monologue.

Good. Really good.

“Give in to it.”

"Okay," Howard mumbled against Vince's lips, not realizing he was speaking out loud. He swiped his tongue along Vince's lower lip, parting them with great care. He teased the roof of his mouth, savouring Vince's taste--sweets and booze and cherry lip gloss.

Howard felt as though an invisible force was pulling him backwards onto the mattress, bringing Vince along with him. A gentle force he would later recognize as instinct. Their legs tangled together, rubbing slowly--needing to feel every inch of skin, denim and cloth like a bundling board between them.

Howard suddenly felt like the collar of his shirt was strangling him. He sat up and stripped it off with haste. He straddled Vince's hips, pulling his blouse off slowly, not knowing whether it was to tease him or himself.

Their breath was coming in heavy puffs of sound, fear and excitement encompassing them as they explored this uncharted territory together, hands roving over the fleshy terrain of each other’s chests.

Howard, (being a vagabond scholar), loved to learn new things, and gained a wealth of knowledge that night. All of it he noted mentally for later use.

Vince shudders violently when I brush my fingertips against his stomach.

Vince moans and shakes when I gently rub behind his knees.

Vince likes to be held down and over-powered.

Howard watched tentatively as Vince kicked off his boots, still trapped underneath him. Watched as he unbuttoned and unzipped his drainpipes slowly, pushing them down while arching his back, perfectly shameless as he laid himself bare before Howard.

It took his breath away.

Vince reached out to remove Howard's trousers and pants, taking less time than he did with his own, need clearly marked on his face. He watched Vince's chest rise and fall with rapid breath and barely audible gasps.

There. They were both naked now, drinking each other in, amazed they had made it this far.

Like trying to dismantle a bomb, Howard thought to himself.

He lent down over Vince--torso to torso--both of them gasping when their erections slid against each other’s. Howard felt something searing and churning in his gut and mimicked the motion that had caused that reaction, grinding his hips against Vince's, cock to cock. It sent a shudder and moan through both of them.

The Scientific Method has never been so sexy, Howard thought, amused.

Howard propped himself up with an elbow on either side of Vince's head, taking the time for another long, languorous kiss.

"I don't know what to do next," he admitted against Vince's ear.

Vince smiled sympathetically and reached into his bedside drawer retrieving a bottle of lube. Howard lay down next to him as Vince explained how it worked.

Howard blushed, the moment too real and too frank for him. He wished there was some way to do this in steps, but going back was not an option at this point.

"Yeah?" Vince asked at the end of his lecture.

Howard nodded, unable to hide his embarrassed smile. He uncapped the bottle, settling in between Vince's legs. He slicked up his fingers, casting a worried glace up Vince's body. Vince had his bottom lip caught between his lips, his right hand sneaking its way down his body and grasping his cock, not stroking, just squeezing.

Howard blushed as his fingertip brushed at Vince's entrance--Vince spread his legs, allowing easier access. Vince moaned as Howard's finger probed deeper, making Howard flush.

He was still uncertain of whether or not he was going about this the right way, but every sigh that escaped Vince's lips at his touch egged him on, encouraging him--making him bolder.

"Vince?" Howard grumbled, craving proximity.

"Go 'head," Vince said, not needing pleas from the older man, knowing what he felt and feeling it too.

Howard coated himself liberally, breath hitching at the foreign and pleasurable feel of the lube against his cock. He lined himself up, pausing to collect his thoughts, as awkward as always.

And Vince (being Vince), took the leap first, lifting his hips up gently, shifting himself downwards until the head of Howard's cock was inside the tight ring of muscle.

Howard made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his world threatening to collapse around him--the walls of the room starting to morph.

Vince beckoned him forwards, and Howard leaned down over Vince's body, sheathing himself inside Vince and burying himself to the hilt. They moaned loudly in unison. Howard kissed Vince deeply, needing to be as close to him as humanly possible.

THIS! My god! This is what was missing! Thisthisthisthis…, Howard thought, any coherency leaving him as he started a slow and steady pace. Vince sighed contentedly, moving his hips in time with Howard, saying silently: “Faster.”

Howard obeyed the silent command, thrusting as hard as he dared, fingers forming fists in the pillow under Vince's head and Vince clung to him, moaning loudly.

Howard watched in amazement as Vince stroked himself in time with Howard's thrusts. He became dizzy at the sight, losing himself, losing time, losing control.

He buried his face in the crook of Vince's neck, puffing hot air against his skin.

They came undone together as the sun rose above Dalston, throwing light on their bodies, sweat glistening.

Howard crumpled into a little ball next to Vince who stretched like a cat. He rolled in to Howard's side, stroking his face.

"Is this the end?" Howard asked, exhaustion heavy in his voice.

Vince yawned. "Of the weird, awkward tension between us? I hope so." He tangled their legs together.

"Then what's this the beginning of?" exhaustion replaced by worry.

"Your new life as a sexual being?!" Vince joked lightly. He looked into Howard's face, seeing the lines there deepen.

Vince sighed. "This doesn't make you gay. This doesn't make you straight."

"Then what does it make me?"

"A human being with the ability to love. Don't try to label it. You love me, I love you, and we just had amazing sex. We're going to take a bit of a nap, wake up and make bacon and pancakes. We're going to carry on, same as we always have. We're going to perform at the Velvet Onion tonight and then we're going to come home and I'll show you what it's like from the bottom." He looked up at Howard with a cheeky smile.

Howard felt himself smiling back. He turned his head to look out the window. The sky was pink, interrupted by streaks of black clouds rimmed in red, threatening early morning rain. The other owners were opening up their shops, sweeping the dirt and rubbish from the sidewalks in front of their doors. Somewhere deep inside the bowels of Davidson's, music was playing softly.

He looked over at Vince, who was fighting a valiant battle against his softly fluttering eyelids. "Go to sleep, little man. I have a feeling today is going to be brilliant. I'll wake you when the rain starts to fall."


End file.
